


Your Eyes Close as I Fall Asleep

by PinkCedar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jonrya Week, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkCedar/pseuds/PinkCedar
Summary: For Jonrya Week 2020: Day 2 - Tropes (Sharing a bed)Jon and Arya did everything together. They ate together, they rode their horses together, they spent time with their direwolves together. The only thing that they categorically, absolutely, did not do, was sleep together.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 128





	Your Eyes Close as I Fall Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be very short, but writing about Jon struggling with his feelings was too fun and so it ended up longer than initially planned.  
>  Fair warning: I wrote smut. It's the first time I do that and I really hope it isn't too bad.  
>  Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!
> 
> `I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
>  I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
>  so I love you because I know no other way  
>  than this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
>  so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
>  so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.`  
>  Pablo Neruda, from XVII

Arya shifted slightly beneath the duvet and blinked open her eyes slowly, still half-asleep as she watched Jon abruptly jump up from his perch on the edge of her bed, his wide-eyed gaze indicating his embarrassment at being caught.

"Um, sorry, I...I'll just — " he made a gesture towards the door, telling her he'd leave. But he just swallowed thickly and stayed standing where he was, staring at her.

Her brow furrowed at his evident distress. "Is something wrong?" she mumbled, reaching her hand out to touch his arm gently.

He met her palm with his own and intertwined their fingers tightly. "Yes," he whispered shakily. He cleared his throat. "Well, I...no. Not really. Just, bad dreams."

"I’m alright," she assured him, guessing what it had been about, and tugged him towards her. He sat back down on the edge of her bed and looked at her helplessly, lifting his free hand to brush her hair back from her eyes.

"I know," he replied softly. "It’s just that, it’s still surreal to me that we’re alive, even after five years since the Battle for the Dawn --" He cut himself off, and glanced away. "I just...I had to come and make sure you're alright. I'm sorry I just barged in and stared at you while you were sleeping, it's just, I couldn't...I couldn't seem to leave." He glanced back at her and half-smiled. "I had thought that maybe you'd have a nightmare, you usually do when a raven announces that we have to leave Winterfell, but you were actually smiling in your sleep, you know."

"Mmmhmm," she agreed, snuggling back down into her duvet. "Dreaming of you." She met his sad gaze, and now she'd woken up a bit more she could see how his eyes glistened in the moonlight streaming in through her window. "Hey," she whispered, pulling him closer still, until he ended up tilting so far over that he was practically lying next to her. "Don't be sad. We’re used to it now, aren’t we? And this will be one of our last trips, we’ll be back home in no time." She grinned at him.

At the sight of her big smile, he relaxed. Ruffling her hair playfully, his eyes searched hers as he murmured, "You should go back to sleep. It's still several hours until morning."

She let out a timely yawn and giggled a little. "Mmm, okay." She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again and asked, "Do you want to stay?" It wasn’t the first time she had woken to Jon’s presence in her bedroom, but it was so rare nowadays, and he had almost always refused to stay, much less sleep in the same bed. At his questioning look, she told him, "I'd like you to stay..."

He floundered for a few minutes, probably considering how improper that would be, before nodding his agreement. Arya lifted the duvet up for him so that he could scoot in. She turned onto her side and smiled into her pillow as she felt Jon place his arm carefully around her waist and spoon up behind her.

He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, before whispering close to her ear, "Goodnight, little wolf."

………

The first time they had shared a bed since reuniting was after the Great Council. 

That day, Daenerys Targaryen and Brandom Stark had declared peace. Their first act in conjunction was to declare that Jon and Arya would work together as emissaries of the Northern and Southern Kingdoms for the first five years of both of their reigns. They would have to roam all of Westeros to reinforce Dany and Bran’s law, to ensure that the two new kingdoms could coexist in peace. Basically, their job was to travel around the land making sure that the new and the old lords weren't abusing their power and that people had a chance to truly live in peace.

At first they weren't thrilled by the request, but soon realized it was a good scenario to live in. This way Jon had gained his aunt's trust and Arya had had the opportunity to replace her memories of destruction and despair with sights of people rebuilding the kingdoms and trying to assemble a new model of society. Plus, they had had the chance to be close to each other.

So when Arya had stumbled through Jon’s door that night and locked eyes with him, he didn't hesitate. They ran at each other and her hug knocked him breathless, but it was a relief–all of the tension he'd been carrying between his shoulders evaporated as he exhaled against her neck. Her knees knocked against his as she kicked in delight; he chuckled and lifted her higher into the air, relishing her happy squeak.

He held her suspended and it was perfect, because– for one brief, intoxicating moment– they were together and he didn't have to share her with anyone. Not even the ground.

Later, she had invited herself into his bed, explaining that she wasn’t any more fond of the idea of being away from him than he was being away from her. Not that night. She was exhausted but wired, and they talked –about the way she had escaped King’s Landing, about what happened when he was stabbed, about where they'd go first, about anything–and talked and talked as he traced slow patterns on her back with his palm. Eventually she drifted off: her head on his chest, one leg between his and locked at the knees. And for the first time since he'd felt life returning to his own body, he was still. Happy just to breathe her in.

When he had woken up the next day, his heart did a little flip before starting a race in his chest at the sight that greeted him. Arya was propped up on her elbow next to him, smiling down at him gently. There were emotions that he didn’t dare put a name to shining out of her eyes and he croaked out a good morning to her.

Her smile had turned mischievous before she reminded him that he said in all austerity that he wouldn’t fall asleep. He wrinkled his nose at her in response and she started giggling, flopping down on her back, jostling him. Jon propped himself up to be able to look at her, lost in her amusement and the little flame of a feeling that he’d been sheltering in his heart suddenly expanded, warming him all over as he realized what it was.

He was in love with Arya Stark. He didn’t just love her, he was actually in love with this girl who had always been so precious to him.

It was terrifying and exhilarating and Jon knew he couldn’t tell her, not ever. She was too young. And although they had discovered that they were cousins, she still viewed him as a brother, obviously, and probably always would. He couldn’t risk burdening her with the knowledge of his feelings, with him. Couldn’t risk losing her.

He had smiled down at her, letting the love show in his eyes for a fraction of a second before trying to dim down the flame and rolling off the bed, establishing some distance between them.

Now, five years later, Jon’s return to consciousness was slow and gentle, brought back to wakefulness by a tickling sensation on his face. It took him a few moments to remember that he was in Arya’s bed, and another second to realize that the tickling was Arya’s fingertips gently trailing over the planes of his face. She was memorizing him with her fingers, tracing his scars and nose and eyebrows.

Slowly, he opened his eyes after she pulled her hand away and was treated to Arya smiling down at him, with an open expression and full of affection. It was the smile and look she used to give him when he’d surprised her with a compliment.

A wave of love strong enough to take his breath away swept over him. His attempts to disguise his love as fraternal this past five years were failing tremendously, for now, he was certain that waking up to her smile was one of the most potent feelings in the world, and wasn’t so certain that he could contain them anymore.

He couldn’t help the grin that spread over his own face as he said hello and she echoed it back to him. Maybe the gods were being kind for once and wouldn’t take this, take her, away from him just because he loved her.

This was enough.

…………………

It happened on the Trident, a fortnight later.

Arya had been angling for a trip there ever since Jon had offhandedly mentioned to her that Hot Pie’s food at the Inn at the crossroads was getting famous. A permanent fair had been established at the Inn’s surroundings, as a place where people from both kingdoms and beyond had the chance to enjoy the peacetime sharing knowledge and establishing means of trade. After the war was over Arya had meant to visit the place more often, but she and Jon were so busy that they had only passed through the Inn once. Now the perfect opportunity had arrived in the form of a raven that informed that the locals were holding an exhibition designed to attract visitors from far and wide

After instructing Nymeria and Ghost to stay in the woods with their pack, Arya and Jon decided it would be best to disguise themselves to make sure they could enjoy the fair. In some places they were treated with fear and suspicion, in others they were glorified as heroes. This time they wanted to just relish in each other's company as normal people who didn’t have to worry so much since there were no problems at sight yet.

As such, they were surrounded by merchants who established different stalls with all kinds of things for sale, from spices to rugs and even armours, and Arya looked around them in open-mouthed awe. 

“It’s just so…” She let out a happy sigh, looping her arm around Jon’s.

He grinned. “I know! Come on, let’s check out the mummers’ play.”

He guided her down aisle after aisle, huffing impatiently every time she stopped to peruse a stall or display. She kept catching his little smiles, though, when he thought she wasn’t looking, and so she knew he wasn’t really irritated.

Eventually, they discovered the shield vendors. “Oh,” she said.

Jon looked down at her. “What?”

“It’s us,” she breathed.

“Yes,” he replied, looking at the painting she was staring at. Their direwolves were illustrated with their heads resting against one another while Needle and Longclaw lay together at their paws in a symbol of peace. “That’s beautiful- ” He frowned and pulled her into a hug. “Are you crying?”

Arya wrinkled her nose. “Of course not,” she composed herself quickly. “It’s just a shame that people think Ghost is the alpha, when he’s such a softie.” Ghost was indeed often depicted as the one who had protected Nymeria, when in real life it had been the other way around. Nevertheless, Jon spluttered at her and she patted his arm. “In a good way, though, Jon!” she amended, smiling widely.

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he replied, “I dunno, you’re the one who’s tearing up.”

“Would’ve thought people would understand that Nymeria was the one who led the army of wolves after you told that story so many times everywhere we went,” she said, ignoring him.

“Aye, if only to save those bards’ lives.”

Arya snorted. “What, you’re telling me they should be able to sing whatever lies they want?”

“Not really.”

She grinned, and since her belly growled interrupting them, she bumped his shoulder. “Let’s find Hot Pie.”

“Right, come on then,” he grabbed her hand and they walked the short distance to the Inn.

It wasn’t long after they had finished their pies and had spent some time talking to Hot Pie– giving him a fright when they revealed their true identities– that they realized they should discuss their sleeping arrangements.

“Only have one room spare,” her friend said apologetically. “But you’ll figure it out. It's not like anyone would notice, with the way you're looking. You can head on up to check if you need anything else. Second door on the right.” He handed them a key. “I’ll be sticking around down here for a bit to keep this lot happy.” He gestured at a large group of tourists who were descending on the vacant tables. Nodding his head towards the stairs, Hot Pie added, “Make yourselves at home.”

As they climbed the winding staircase, Arya hummed thoughtfully.

“It’s nice to be disguised and witness people’s real lives, but I can’t say I regret having the privilege to secure a bedroom whenever we can. Who would we tell him we were to be able to do this if not ourselves?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I’d simply charm the man if that were the case?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

He sniffed. “Fine. I’d tell him you were an important merchant who crossed the narrow sea only to taste his famous pies. He would be instantly enamoured.”

Arya snorted and elbowed him, and then they let themselves into their little flat. She laughed when she saw the room he’d mentioned. “Nice and snug.”

It was little more than a nook, a door opening to reveal a tiny bedroom wherein the narrow bed took up the whole thing, like a cabin on a boat or something.

Jon and Arya did everything together. From the time they got up in the morning to the time they went to their separate beds at night– or other sleeping accommodations– they were almost never apart. They ate together, they rode their horses together, they spent time with their direwolves together. They lived together. The only thing that they categorically, absolutely, did not do, was sleep together. This was an intimacy that Jon just couldn’t allow them to share, claiming he was thinking of her reputation as a Lady.

So being faced with the sight of a single, narrow bed was something of a shock for him. He spent the next hours thinking of a way to avoid it, thinking of excuses not to sleep together while they explored the rest of the fair. It couldn't happen again, especially so soon after that time in Winterfell. He couldn’t even concentrate on the mummer’s act that evening remembering the feeling of her asleep in his arms.

But there was no question about them sharing the bed when they stumbled into their bedroom later that night. Arya argued that they had slept in her bed back at home without the trouble of only having a single bed to sleep on, so it wouldn't make sense for them not to do it in the Inn. It only took a glare from Arya to stop Jon’s feeble attempt to sleep on the floor. She wouldn’t let him.

After removing her swordbelt and boots, Arya settled in under the covers, wriggling around a bit.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as he slid in beside her, trying to maintain a careful distance that he knew wouldn’t last.

“Just getting comfortable.” She pulled out her breeches and sleeveless jerkin from beneath the duvet and chucked them towards the end of the bed.

“Oh.” That meant only her shirt was left along with her smallclothes.

“Hot Pie did say we could make ourselves at home.” Arya looked at him. “You could take your doublet, at least.”

“I will, don't worry,” he muttered, and did just as she’d suggested taking off his shoes and doublet. “Happy?”

“Very.” She could see his muscles through his shirt and stared at them for a moment before she gave a firm tug on his wrist and Jon, laughing lightly, tumbled down onto the bed next to her.

They shuffled down so their heads hit the pillows and rolled onto their sides, facing one another. The glow from the moon once again allowed her to see his face, just about, which let her read his expressions, see if he was genuinely comfortable or just indulging her. Arya was relieved to see that he looked more relaxed now, and as she continued to stare at him, his mouth curved up into a soft smile.

"Now what?" he asked.

Arya tangled her legs into his, finding a comfortable position that he was unlikely to get out of without causing himself injury. "Close your eyes and go to sleep," she told Jon, in a gentle, soothing tone.

"You know I don't sleep a lot," he reminded her. "You're the one who should be trying to sleep."

Her eyelids started to feel heavy at his very words, and she fought back a yawn. She didn’t want to sleep yet, or lose this quiet, lovely moment between them. "Why are you whispering?”

“Dunno. You started it.”

They lapsed into silence again. Arya tested the waters by holding his hand and entwining their fingers. She stroked her thumb along his. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“Don’t you want to see the rest of the fair?”

"I do. It’s just that... I thought I might show you where I threw Joffrey's sword in the river. It's not far from here."

“Are you sure?” he asked, raising his eyebrows, knowing the memories were hard.

“I know it won't be so nice.” She unclasped their hands to poke him lightly in the chest. “But it's somewhere I would like to go. To see where everything started going wrong.”

He caught her finger in his. “Then I will accompany you. But I prefer it when you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I did enjoy myself today. It’s amazing, seeing all these different people coming together, all the hustle and bustle. It’s like…I just love to soak it all up, take it all in, you know? To find a reason to hope.” The smile on his face made her cheeks heat up, but she pushed through it to add, “Plus, you know. You’re here.”

“I am,” he confirmed.

Arya smiled. “What I mean is, anywhere we go, even if we get caught up in some trouble, I love it all, because we’re experiencing it together. After so long trying to get back to you, here we are. Together.”

Jon grinned, but he couldn’t hide that he felt touched by her words, it was right there in his eyes. “This is all I ever needed. Seeing you late at night when your eyelids are drooping and you’re fighting sleep just to talk to me. Knowing that you’re safe.”

Arya blushed. “It’s hard not to kiss you when you say things like that.”

He ran his fingers along her arm, tickling lightly. “You think I would mind having you rain your kisses on my face?”

“Shut up, stupid. That’s not what I mean,” she laughed, but turned quiet.

"What do you mean then?" he asked, exhaling roughly.

She sighed, uncertain of how to explain it. "Well. It's just. You're Jon Targaryen, potential heir of Daenerys Stormborn, soon enough you’ll be free to pick a beautiful lady to be your wife. People call you things like the highest authority and all that. And then there's the fact that some of those people are scared of your very name and on the other hand, some rejoice in it and treat you like a god. You're the most amazing person I know and sometimes it's hard to not feel...tiny, in comparison to you."

"Don't be daft," he murmured. "Arya, you're the reason why I..."

"What?"

He shook his head slightly, not answering her question. "What about the fact that we’re cousins?"

"I don’t care about that."

"Not even that we were siblings?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"That was so long ago, Jon," she smiled softly. “I don’t see you like that anymore. Not since I was a little child, and now I’m a woman grown. Do you consider me your sister?”

He stroked a strand of her hair back from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. "No," he whispered.

"Good," she whispered back. “So are you going to do something about it?”

He blinked, trying to decide if this was a dream. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know,” she hesitated. “What I do know is, when you do things like this to me..." Arya lifted her hand to his hair and ran it through it. His eyes widened. "Or this," she added, dropping her hand to his cheek, cupping it tenderly, feeling it heat up beneath her touch as a blush took over his face. "Or this," she repeated, wrapping her hand around his, giving a light squeeze and he stared at her.

"Or this?" he whispered, interrupting her before she could continue. He punctuated his question by tilting his head forwards and kissing her tenderly on the lips. He drew back almost immediately, a hopeful yet uncertain expression on his face.

"It makes me feel worthy of you," she finished softly.

"Oh, Arya," he murmured, reaching for her hand and placing it back on his cheek. "You're completely wrong." She went rigid against him, and he realised what he'd said could be taken the wrong way. "No! What I mean is, you've got it the wrong way around. It's me who doesn't deserve you."

"Don't be silly, you weren't trained by assassins like me," she replied.

"That doesn't mean I haven't done things I regret. You're not the only one who let grief cloud your judgment," he explained, a lump in his throat. "I like to pretend that we're good for each other. But the thing is, you're very, very good for me, and I'm… broken."

"Don't say that," she protested, shaking her head.

"It's true, though." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You've no idea how much I wish- " he broke off, swallowing hard.

"What?" she prompted.

"How much I want us to be together," he answered.

“I also want us to be together,” she replied.

That gave him hope. “I didn’t really understand what together meant until I found you again,” he replied seriously.

She was finding it difficult to speak, having to moisten her lips several times. “What does it mean?” she whispered eventually.

He lay still for some time. Somewhere in the rarified air between them, everything stopped. Their eyes locked.

“This,” he said, reaching his free hand round to cup the side of her face, using his arm to pull her upwards so she was half lying on top of him. Then he kissed her. It was chaste, just the press of lips again, but said so much. He then drew her against him, into a hug. She melted into it gladly, and he held her tight, pressing a kiss to her temple. His lips lingered there for a moment too long.

"Arya, May I… keep holding you like this?" he asked softly, resting his arm around her waist as he scooted closer.

She smiled and pressed against him more fully, wrapping her arm around his waist in a mirror image of how his was around her shoulder. "Yeah."

"Good. Also," he added. "Is it alright if I…" he trailed off as his hand swept her hair from her neck. He tilted his head and placed a feather-like kiss to the sensitive skin there.

"That's completely fine," she breathed out roughly.

His grip around her tightened for a moment. "Good," he whispered once more.

And then —

Nothing.

Arya huffed in frustration and quickly shrugged out of his touch, shifting further onto her side of the bed. "What, that's it?" she asked sceptically, raising her eyebrows.

He scooted closer, sharing her pillow. "Yes?" he replied, taking her hand in his again and bringing her fingers to his mouth, kissing the backs of them. She pressed her lips together in a shy smile. Jon shrugged a shoulder. "We should do this the proper way. If someone deserves to be courted properly, that someone is you."

She rolled on top of him. "I like that idea. I like mine better though."

"Do you now." She couldn't read her expression, since he turned his head to stare stoically at the ceiling.

Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and settled her head on his chest with a heavy sigh.

"I can hear your heart beating," she muttered, after a minute or so of quiet.

"Well I should hope so," he retorted.

"No, but I mean — it's beating really fast. Like…really fast. You alright?" She raised her head to look at him.

"Very alright, thank you," he replied tightly.

"What is it?" she asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Arya."

"What?"

"You're lying on top of me."

"Well, yeah. You're very comfortable."

"Comfortable," he stated blankly.

"Yes."

"Right." His arm came up around her and his fingers slid through her hair, playing gently with the strands.

Arya let her hands wander; she stroked down the lapels of his shirt, then dipped her hands inside, smoothing across his muscles. His chest rose and fell more quickly under her touch, and his hearts picked up the pace too, a wild beat against her palms.

"Touch me," she asked.

Jon’s hand wandered down to her bare thigh in response, smoothing across it and urging her leg a bit higher over his. Arya hooked her heels behind his thighs, using the leverage to inch even closer. His thumb circled her exposed hipbone and he tugged, helping to pull her nearer, and they both moaned when his erection pressed into her stomach. His breath puffed against her lips and Arya whimpered, tangling her hand in his hair.

Neither of them could so much as inhale before their lips crashed together, both shivering at the long-awaited, long-craved contact, the pretence finally over. The kiss started off with sipping touches, like hummingbirds at flowers, lips brushing and feathering away, then sliding together again. It said very, very clearly that it was not anything like unique, only the first of its kind. It would lead the way, this kiss, and it would be followed by millions.

Gradually, that careful kiss evolved. Arya let her tongue brush Jon's mouth. His teeth grazed her lips, bringing pleasure and longing at the same time. Lips parted then, tongues entwined and learning.

The kiss wasn't the only thing beginning between them. Jon explored her skin gently, almost tentatively. He brushed her face, cupped her cheek, touched her hair as he often did. The intimacy of the familiar touch had always been there but now it gained a new level. His eyes were shining, almost over bright, and when he lowered his head again, it was not to kiss her this time but to rest his forehead against hers.

“Let me see you," he whispered, and the dark, seductive timbre of his voice made Arya tremble.

She grabbed the remaining fabric and lifted the whole thing over her head, tossing it somewhere behind her. She panted as he took her in, gooseflesh rising as he smoothed his fingers up her ribs. His eyes drifted over her body, leisurely taking in each perfect detail of her, until finally meeting her eyes. He smiled softly and reached out to her, cupping her face in one hand, his touch gentle.

"You're beautiful," he told her with sincerity, and Arya leaned her face into his palm smiling back at him.

He stroked a thumb across Arya's lips as they parted under his touch and then, as if he was learning her, he trailed his fingertips down the length of her throat, the fullness of her breasts, and the smooth, warm skin of her stomach. At last, his hand came to rest on her leg, his fingers brushing at the peach-soft skin of her inner thigh, each caress moving higher, closer to the fire of her core, but not close enough. Never close enough. 

“Arya…” He whispered, breathing heavily. “Gods, Arya, you feel…”

She cut him off with her lips, closing the distance between them, and then gasped into his mouth, feeling wetness pool between her thighs as he ground his hard cock directly between her open thighs, his breeches the only fabric between them as she rocked herself up and down against his heat in more urgent waves. She kissed him harder, more desperately, felt both his hands slide down to grasp her bottom, controlling the drives as she rubbed herself against him.

He stopped kissing her, pulled back his head, and she could see him watching the sweat and desire mount on her face. She felt frenzied, her mind struggling to catch up while her body urged her forward. She wanted to feel him inside her, filling her, and told him as much. “Want you,” she exhaled huskily, letting the truth shine through her eyes. “So bad. For so long.”

He groaned, long, low and deep, and Arya’s stomach fluttered at the sound. He took her lips between his again and when he broke their kiss, making her whimper in protest, his lips twitched into a dark smile, knowing that she wanted this as much as he did. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control the urgency within him. The desire to take her, claim her, make her his, was blinding, but he fought against it. It would happen, yes, but he was determined to slow it down. He wanted to savour every second of making love to her, just as much as he wanted her to savour every second of being made love to. 

So he closed his mouth around her nipple, sucking hard and tugging at her skin with his teeth. Arya panted as she watched him release one breast and move to the other, skirting his tongue around her nipple before flattening against it. While he closed his mouth and began to suck and tease her flesh, Jon wedged his hand between their bodies, making long strokes up and down the inside of her thighs. She clutched his shoulders, legs beginning to quiver with need. After a moment he released her breast with a soft pop, rising to meet her lips. Their kiss was sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues seeking, and after several minutes Arya broke away to catch Jon's gaze.

He gave her a long, lingering look, that she recognised as a reflection of her body’s own want. He stopped her movements with the pressure of his hands, lifting her hips up off him and purposefully shifting her forward as he inched down the bed towards her. She arched backwards with a cry when his tongue found her most secret place, his mouth pressed between her legs, his breath warming her from the inside.

She could easily have let go, surrendered to the skilful manipulation of his tongue, but she felt too far removed from him, so after several minutes, she lifted herself backwards, away from the pleasure he was giving her, back down his body.

"No," she panted to him. "Together."

She could feel the straining throb of his need in the air, the fire he was keeping reigned in as he focused on her. He tensed for a second, stroking her legs, and decided not to argue. "Together, then," he replied.

She moved, pivoting around, bending low over him to rid him of the last of his clothes, and gave her lips and her mouth something else to do.

He felt the heat of her mouth enclose him as he reached up towards her again with this tongue, and it was all he could do to keep his concentration as he felt her draw him in deeply, hitting the roof of her mouth. It was a while before he regained enough awareness to match the sucking, biting, red-hot pressure with which she was torturing him to the gentle flicks of his tongue, the rhythm of his fingers inside her. He strained himself into her mouth, trying to keep the orgasm that perched just behind the last fragments of his self-control at bay, nearly lost it as he felt her start to contract against his fingers, and tasted a renewed flood of her sweetness.

Arya threw her head back and moaned, shuddering as her chest constricted and her muscles tightened and relaxed. It was a quick one— a burst — and while it relieved the pressure, it left her anything but sated.

Then she felt Jon move, rolling their bodies in the bed so that Arya was held beneath him, authority and dominance his once more. He pulled back a little and couldn't help but smile at his prize before returning to press kisses to the soft skin of her inner thigh, her hip, her stomach, her breast, her throat and finally, just as she sighed his name and wrapped her body around him, his mouth took hers.

She tasted herself on his kiss, tasted him too, and it was familiar and strange all at once. Her mouth opened to him, and his tongue explored hers as her hands smoothed down his back. He moved against her, and his kiss trailed to the hollow at the base of her throat, his teeth nipped her skin and she shuddered in breathless delight, giggling and breathing heavily.

“And just what’s so funny?”

He ran a finger along her ribs and nipped at her jaw.

“It’s just so typical.”

“What is?”

Arya circled her fingers around his base and squeezed.

“Just that, in all the hundreds of ways I imagined you making me come the first time, that never crossed my mind.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, sounding breathless as she stroked him. “How did you picture it then, all these hundreds of times?”

Arya smirked and, rather than answer, lined him up with her entrance again. Jon smiled and pushed inside her a few inches. Her mouth fell open as he slipped completely inside her, driving into her at last. He pulled out and thrust forward and was even deeper, stretching her walls just enough.

“Oh gods, do that again.”

Jon kissed her as he obeyed, pulling nearly all the way out before rocking back into her, repeating the motion over and over. He went slowly, kissing her until she had to break away to breathe.

His pace quickened then, so many years of suppressed lust refusing to let it be gentle for very long. He began to pound into her, shuddering every time her moans increased in the slightest pitch, loving the way her legs hooked around him and drove him into her at a different angle. Her legs tensed to meet his thrusts, crying out with the glorious feel of him filling her, a satisfaction she craved, hungered for. She lost any attempt at skill or finesse, forcing herself back into him and so him into her, trusting that he would know how to take her into orgasm.

He knew, but he had forgotten, so overwhelmed by her tight heat that he abandoned himself to the demands of his body, his strokes increasingly fierce, increasingly wild.

They did everything together. They lived together, they slept together (a new development), and they came together. Stars exploded across her vision as the white heat consumed her and he was deafened by the roar of the climax pouring out of him, releasing into her.

"I love you," Jon said, completing Arya with his body and his words. She moaned his name, and echoed his love back to him, wrapping herself around him, accepting him like he accepted her, and hoping fervently, deliriously, that this single perfect moment could go on forever. Because she'd never felt like she belonged anywhere so much as she felt she belonged with him at that moment.

They stayed like that for a while, panting and caressing each other’s skin, whispering small, contented words. Arya smiled against his shoulder when he thanked her for convincing him to share a bed. They should do it every night, he said.

And then she snuggled into his chest, letting the soft feel of the beats vibrating beneath her cheek lull her into dreams filled with his laughter, chasing her nightmares away.


End file.
